Something I Can Never Have
by Indelible Evidence
Summary: He's her starting point. He's been looking for her his whole life. But if there's one thing Kurt Weller is good at, it's finding barriers to his own happiness. Some walls may never come down. Series of connected one-shots set in season one.
1. Guilt and Pleasure (1x05)

**Author's Note: **I've always felt a bit hesitant about writing early season 1 Jeller smut, because the show is so fast-paced. As it turns out, Jane has only been working with the team for about two weeks when she kisses Kurt at the end of 1x10, because they solve a tattoo per day and then you have to factor in weekends... Anyway. It feels like too fast to write them hooking up at the end of 1x05, for example. But that doesn't mean they can't think about it. :D This one is a 1x05 tag from Kurt's point of view. Hope you guys enjoy it!

* * *

He was driving too fast.

Kurt made himself ease off the accelerator as he left Jane's street, hoping the agents posted outside her building would assume he and Jane had argued before he'd left. The truth was completely different, and now his emotions were a confused mess.

What had he been thinking today? His response to Jane's panic attack earlier had been too strong, too intense, and now she'd taken his interest as more than friendship. He was screwing up everything about this reconnection with Taylor, and he couldn't pinpoint the moment it had all become tangled into a ball of need, and fear, and hope.

_Jane. Not Taylor._

Last night at dinner, she'd fled from the table and refused to talk to him about it, darting into the elevator the moment it arrived and hitting the button to close the doors, as though she couldn't stand to be there a second longer. Up until the next day, he'd thought it was Sarah's enthusiasm or Sawyer's questions that had spooked Jane, but in the trailer outside the MWA building, she'd told him, _I see the way you look at me, and I don't know how to be this person that you lost._ And later, back at the NYO, she'd added, _It feels like you're waiting for me to remember something that is never going to come._

It was almost as though she didn't want to be Taylor, as though she was resistant to her past, and that had put him on edge. When he'd told her being Taylor wasn't the answer to all her problems, but it was a starting point, she'd still seemed troubled, but they'd been interrupted by Agent Knox and his team. As Knox had described his team's actions over comms—going down a set of stairs and discovering a room with beds—something in Jane's memory had clicked into place, and she'd fled the room.

He'd found her in the hallway, leaning against the wall and staring into space in complete distress, which only increased as she'd related what she'd remembered: being led by a man down a flight of stairs, into a room filled with children. She hadn't said more, and he hadn't wanted to push as her panic had increased, but from her horrified expression, the kids hadn't been well cared for in comfortable surroundings.

Helplessness and guilt had crashed into him at the knowledge that she had likely been a trafficked child, held captive for some sick purpose. He'd let her be taken from his care; he'd failed her. Kurt had needed her to know that he wouldn't let her down again, that he'd protect her no matter what, and before the intention was even fully formed in his mind, he'd taken her hand and pressed it against his own pounding heart. As her trembling had slowed, her sobs calming a little, he'd spoken words of reassurance directly from his soul. _Do you feel that? I'm here. I'm right here with you. You're okay. Keep breathing, Jane. You're okay. Just keep breathing._

She'd almost begun breathing normally, her composure anchored to him and the beat of his heart, her tearful gaze locked on his, when Reade had cut in on them. The interruption, though quiet and tactful, had felt like an intrusion, almost a violation, and he'd wanted to send Reade packing with harsh words. As he'd reluctantly released Jane's hand from his hold against his chest, she'd broken away and stumbled off down the hall, presumably to the privacy of the restroom to finish processing what she'd remembered.

After they'd secured the radioactive isotope, and the CIA had dragged off the bomb maker, Kurt had still been unable to relax. The way Carter had been eyeing Jane had made him very uneasy, and he'd offered her a ride home, wanting to check neither the CIA nor any more of Jane's unknown 'friends' were lying in wait at her new safehouse.

In retrospect, that had been a mistake. The protective detail had turned on one lamp when they'd reported for duty and done their own sweep, half an hour before. The dim lighting had made the atmosphere feel intimate as Jane had closed the door behind them. He'd meant to do a quick check of the rooms and leave, but couldn't help but ask her, if indirectly, if she was okay. When she'd apologised for 'losing it', he'd told her 'it happens', then made it halfway towards the door—before realising only a complete asshole would leave without addressing the matter properly.

And after that, everything had crashed down, the way he'd dreaded it would. His fears that she didn't want to reclaim her identity, that she might feel uncomfortable with him after remembering something he'd allowed to happen to her…all of that had led to him telling her he shouldn't have put her in a situation where there had been so many expectations upon her. And then that he should never have let them take her. His barely breathed apology had felt just like his words in the hallway as he'd comforted her—ripped from the roots of his soul.

This time, he'd been the one near tears as she'd told him, with compassion and sincerity, that it wasn't his fault. The damaged little boy inside him had craved the absolution of his childhood friend, even as the man he'd become warned him this moment was getting too deep, too charged with emotions his childhood self couldn't have comprehended.

And Jane... _Fuck._

Impulsively, Kurt turned off the street into a darkened back alley. He'd noticed a couple of kids throwing bricks at the security camera here a couple of nights ago, and was pretty sure he'd seen them hit their target, meaning he could shut off the engine and sit in the darkened stillness, completely unobserved.

If not for his houseguests, he would have gone straight home to think this through, but in his current state, he didn't think he could field Sarah's questions about his day or Sawyer's talk about school. He needed time to himself to process this.

He didn't know how to feel.

Only that was a lie—he knew exactly how he felt, but he also knew it was irresponsible and wrong.

Jane had… _Goddamn it. _ Groaning softly, he dropped his head down to the steering wheel, pressing his forehead against the cool surface.

He'd barely gotten away from her before his hard-on had begun to push against the front of his pants. At least it was dark outside, and Jane's detail wouldn't have noticed anything untoward—not at the speed he'd been moving, at least.

_You said Taylor was my starting point. I think you're wrong._

Kurt pressed the heel of his hand down against his cock, willing his need away. Not that he expected it to work, but it would have been appreciated.

Jane had gently taken his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her heart, echoing the way he'd brought hers to his own chest earlier that day. Her touch had been less urgent than his, her hand keeping his in place only symbolic. Even so, he hadn't been able to stop himself from pressing his palm there more firmly, the strong, rhythmic beat of her heart a balm for the guilt roiling within him. The tactile sensation distracted him from her words, until she murmured something that tilted his world.

_You. You're my starting point._

He could have hung on, continued the conversation, made sure she knew he cherished her trust, before he'd said goodnight. After all, when she'd been crying, he'd done this to her. She'd obviously been seeking to offer the same kind of comfort. But this was so much more intimate—the edge of his hand brushing the slope of her breast, the dimly lit room, the low likelihood of interruptions…

Had his reaction been what turned her mind towards desire, or had her gaze become heated because she'd already wanted him? He didn't know, but when he remembered the way her attention had drifted down to his lips for a moment, as though she couldn't help but think about kissing him…

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He'd felt himself losing control, the look in her eyes making it impossible to keep his denial in place. He wanted Jane, and had since the night he'd met her. He wanted someone he'd spent twenty-five years remembering as a lost sister, as family. And that was why he'd turned his back on a beautiful woman who'd trusted him enough to bare her emotions to him, leaving her hanging with nothing more than a 'see you tomorrow' as curt as his name.

He'd hurt her feelings. He must have. But what was the alternative—to let her kiss him? He would have pinned her to the wall and—

_Don't even go there._

But as he adjusted his uncomfortably tight pants, trying to ease the pressure, he already knew further denial was a lost cause. This wasn't going to go away if he just ignored it. Maybe he could purge the idea from his system by indulging it. Just this once.

His cock grew harder, even as he tried to talk himself out of it. _You want to jerk off over an emotionally vulnerable woman you're supposed to be working with? The victim in the biggest case you've ever worked? That's just fucking wrong, Weller._

Not that his body seemed to care. In fact, the taboo was just making his need worse. Groaning with conflicted surrender, he pulled a package of tissues from the glove box and yanked one free.

This was a premeditated act, now. By making sure he had a tissue handy for the clean-up, he was actively planning to jerk off, and when Jane filled his fantasies, he wouldn't even be able to claim to himself that it was an accident.

But he couldn't exactly walk into his apartment in this condition, not with his sister and nephew there. And every time he thought he was calming down, he remembered Jane's upturned face, the way she'd swayed forward just a fraction before he'd made himself step back. And he was right back where he started again.

_Oh, sure, make out like it's all about the physical stuff. You _want_ to get off to thoughts of Jane. You know how hard it'll make you come._

He was ashamed of himself even as he unzipped his pants and freed his aching cock from the zipper, and yet he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so hard to his own touch. Ignoring the disparaging side of himself, and the uncomfortable truth it was pointing out, Kurt used his own arousal to lubricate his shaft, gritting his teeth to contain a groan. This wouldn't take long.

Had Jane become as turned on as he had by the moment they'd shared? Was she, even now, using her hand or a toy to give herself pleasure? The thought of her calling out his name as she climaxed made his pulse pound through his cock, and he quickened his pace, tightening his grip.

He was helpless to stop himself now, remembering her hand on his face the first night they'd met. The many pictures Patterson had taken of her tattooed skin, and the way his name on her back stood out like a label. Her small smile as she'd ducked out of his reach when they'd sparred in the gym, and the determination in her face as she'd hit back. How she tucked her hair behind her ear as she read through paperwork, revealing the bird tattoo on her neck. The way she complemented him in the field, as though they'd always been meant to be partnered together, whether with handguns or assault weapons.

And her eyes. Oh, _fuck_, those eyes would be the end of him. Especially when she looked at him like _that._

_You're my starting point._

Kurt let his head drop back against his seat and spilled into the tissue, her name breathlessly escaping his lips as the pleasure crested. "Jane…" With every strong pulse of his orgasm, he stroked himself firmly, prolonging the sensation for as long as he could. _Oh, fuck, that feels good…_

When it was over, reality setting back in, he cursed under his breath and fastened his pants, trying not to think about what he'd just done. Or how it would return to his mind as soon as he laid eyes on Jane tomorrow.

_You screwed up, Weller._

At least this night couldn't get any more complicated, he mused, as he started the car and drove the last couple of minutes back to his apartment building. Leaving his car in the underground parking lot, he took the elevator up to his floor, putting Jane to the back of his mind as best he could.

Thirty seconds after walking into his apartment, he walked straight back out again, his conflicted feelings over Jane forgotten as rage inflamed his senses.

_How dare Sarah bring that bastard into my apartment without consulting me first?_

* * *

Again, he was driving too fast, and again, he had to make himself slow down as he turned into a busier street. When his furious torrent of thoughts had run their course, resentment, anger and stubborn pride following well-worn channels through his mind, he realised this was the second time he'd driven past Jane's street since discovering his father's presence, and that couldn't be a coincidence.

Jane would listen to him, comfort him, offer him a bed for the night—innocently, or not so innocently. She'd watch him with that sympathetic expression and reassure him that his feelings were valid. That was exactly why he couldn't go back to her place, even with the purest of intentions.

He needed her too much, had already grown to rely on her enough to be a burden, when she already carried enough of her own issues. His problems were his own to deal with. They always had been, and that couldn't change now. There was a reason he kept to himself, and letting Jane in? That would only lead to confusion and heartache for both of them.

He shot one more look at the entrance to Jane's street, then turned the car in the opposite direction, heading for Manhattan. He'd take out his fury on a punching bag in the NYO's gym facilities, take a shower in the locker room, then see if he could grab some sleep on a cot in the medical bay.

At least his father was good at occupying his thoughts, giving Kurt a way to avoid thinking any more about what had happened with Jane. Though his anger was all-consuming and tangled up with guilt about the past, this was familiar ground, and he was all too eager to leave behind the new territory he'd begun to tread earlier.

Anger and recriminations were so much easier for him to handle than guilty pleasure.


	2. The Right Partner (1x09)

**Author's Note: **I rewatched 1x09 (the Jeller fake marriage/undercover episode) again lately, and this was the result. I'm also due to watch it again with some Tumblr friends at the weekend, and I already have another idea for a tag to this episode in the back of my mind (it's the episode that keeps on giving, you have to admit!).

This has kind of an AU beginning, but go with it and you'll see why by the end!

* * *

"Bye, Jane!" A very tipsy Patterson enfolded Jane in a hug, while Kurt watched in amusement. He wasn't sure if Patterson had a lower tolerance than the rest of them, or if she just was a more expressive person under the influence. He hadn't ever been out with the whole team for drinks in the past, so seeing Patterson less than sober and professional was a first for him.

As Jane stood at the door, watching their friend get into a cab, Kurt took the unobserved moment to look Jane over. Reade and Zapata had both left shortly before Patterson, and he would be the last guest to leave Jane's housewarming. He could lie to himself and pretend it was an accident, but he couldn't imagine walking out of there while any of the others remained. Not tonight.

While Jane called a final goodbye to Patterson, a slight flutter of nerves stirred in Kurt's stomach. This was the first time he and Jane had been truly alone since their undercover mission earlier in the day, and he wasn't sure exactly how much it had changed things between them. The fact that they'd gone undercover as married assassins was something he had taken full advantage of, and the more he'd held Jane in his arms, the less he'd wanted to let go.

Dancing with her had been simultaneously the easiest and most difficult thing he'd had to do on that mission—the chemistry between them had been off the charts. She'd seemed just as glad to be able to hold him as he had been for her, and every time their gazes had met, she'd dropped the eye contact first, seeming flustered.

But then she'd told him she thought she might be engaged, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with that information. If he'd been reading her right, she'd felt the magnetic pull between them just as strongly, yet she'd chosen that moment to bring up her potential past engagement—why? As a subtle warning for him to not get any ideas?

_Too late for that._ He'd been fighting his feelings for her since that night she'd told him he was her starting point, but after the day they'd had, it was impossible to deny that he was holding out hope for something between them.

And from the way Jane had looked at him as she'd asked if he'd ever been married, he didn't think she'd been warning him to back off.

Jane shut the door and turned with a smile, putting an end to his introspection. "This was such a great night. Thank you for arranging it."

"You're welcome. I figured we could all use some downtime, after how intense these cases have been." He'd been leaning on the kitchen counter, but now he straightened and joined Jane in the living room.

_You're my starting point._

The last time they'd been alone here, things had gotten…complicated. He could still feel the remembered beat of her heart under his palm, as she'd held it to her chest.

"'Intense' is the right word," Jane said, bringing him out of the recollection. "For a moment there tonight, I didn't think we were gonna make it out."

Her words jolted him back to their gunfight earlier that night, a much simpler memory. If not for Reade and Zapata's timely arrival in an FBI chopper, they would have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers, not to mention heavier firepower. Rich Dotcom had had more henchmen than Kurt had bargained on, some carrying shotguns and assault rifles, and he'd cursed himself for putting Jane in danger while he'd mentally scrambled for his next move. Luckily, he hadn't had to make one, as Reade and Zapata had taken out the rest of the threat from the air.

It was unusual for her to bring up the danger they faced, as though she feared that if she mentioned it, he'd decide to pull her from the field. Not that it hadn't crossed his mind more than once—he was nothing if not protective.

"You okay?" he asked, studying Jane's face.

"Yeah," she said. "Despite the danger, I kinda had fun today. It was a nice change of pace to get dressed up and pretend to be someone else."

_So it was all an act?_ He didn't think so, but if she was hiding behind that pretence, she was putting distance between herself and her actions undercover. She was giving him mixed signals, her body language open, if hesitant, but her words contradicting that.

"And I found out I can speak Bulgarian, so there's that," she added.

The words called his mind back to Jane's brief exchange with Rich Dotcom. "What did Dotcom say to you, when he was checking your Bulgarian?"

Jane rolled her eyes. "He asked me if I liked the jealous type. That was right after he asked if we'd be interested in a threesome. Or if he could just…watch us have sex."

Kurt tried not to let his imagination run away with him—straight to a fantasy where Dotcom was nowhere to be seen.

"What planet was that guy on?" he asked, to distract himself.

"From the looks of his eyes, probably Planet Cocaine. It's a good thing you were playing the jealous husband from the start, or he'd probably have kept on making suggestions."

"That was kinda fun, too," Kurt confessed, unable to suppress a grin.

It hadn't been a conscious plan to play a volatile, possessive husband—not until he'd seen a guy 'frisking' Jane by stroking his hands over as many of her curves as possible, taking advantage of his security job to cop a feel. Kurt had seen red, and had tried to fight his instinct to get violent with the guy—right until he'd realised he had the perfect excuse for letting his impulses reign.

"So what did you tell Dotcom?" he asked, remembering Jane's slightly suggestive smile as she'd answered the hacker in Bulgarian.

"That I like all types." At Kurt's raised eyebrow, she gave a small shrug. "What? I didn't want to completely brush him off, in case you needed me to distract him while you went off and did something you didn't want him to see."

"You distracted him just by breathing," Kurt grumbled, then realised he was supposed to have dropped the 'jealous husband' act at the end of the mission. Before Jane could react, he added, "Want another beer? I think there's still a couple left."

Jane considered it, then smiled. "Hey, why not? It's Friday somewhere, right?"

Kurt snorted as he headed to the fridge, where Jane had stashed the beers he'd brought over. "So I hear."

He returned to her side and handed her a bottle, then held his own up in a toast. "To successful, if unconventional, undercover missions."

"Cheers," Jane agreed, clinking her bottle carefully against his.

Kurt watched her throat shift as she drank a little beer, and shoved the thought of kissing her there to the back of his mind.

"It's been a while since I last wore a tux," he said, after sipping his own beer. "I think the last time was an undercover mission right after I joined the bureau. I hate the damn things."

"But you clean up pretty nicely," Jane said, then dropped her gaze to her bottle almost immediately.

Kurt compared her shy compliment to Allie's frank, appreciative gaze and overt flirting. Strange how he'd always gravitated towards women like Allie—unafraid to pursue him with a direct attitude—yet now he was completely captivated by Jane.

"You looked pretty amazing, yourself," he said, the compliment only slightly less inadequate than what he'd said earlier in the day, when she'd told him she felt ridiculous in the beautiful dress she was wearing.

"It wasn't something I'd have chosen to wear myself, but at least now I can say I know what it feels like to wear a six-million-dollar necklace," she deflected, a subtle flush coming to her cheeks.

"Like having a target around your neck?" he guessed.

"Exactly. Although with the security around the gala and the party, I doubt a thief could have gotten close enough to try stealing it." She shrugged. "I think I can safely say that galas and rich people's birthday parties are interesting to try out, but I wouldn't want to make a habit of going to them."

Kurt nodded, going along with her segue away from her appearance. Accepting compliments was obviously as difficult for her as he found giving them—and he wasn't one for flattery. "If it helps, I doubt another case like this will come along anytime soon."

She took a sip of her drink, leaning against the breakfast bar. "It seems like with every new case we work, I find out something new about myself. Sometimes multiple things. I wonder if any of that is by design?"

"You think the people responsible for this wanted you to know you can dance?" Kurt teased mildly.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Not that. But maybe that I speak Bulgarian."

"Maybe. It's something to bear in mind."

Jane fell quiet, seeming suddenly preoccupied, and he wondered if she was pondering the other thing she'd learned about herself today—that she might have a fiancé somewhere out there. It kept returning to the forefront of _his_ mind, dimming his mood a little every time.

Just as he was about to ask what had distracted her, she pulled herself back to the present moment and looked up at him. "I can't imagine I'll be dancing again anytime soon, but it's kind of good to know I can, if I need to. I'm kind of surprised. It doesn't seem to fit with the rest of my skillset."

"Maybe you did undercover stuff as a SEAL, too?" Kurt suggested.

"Maybe," she agreed. "However I learned it, it was more fun than I expected."

Her wistful look, combined with the alcohol in his bloodstream, prompted Kurt to suggest, "You wanna dance a little more now?"

She shot him a look that was startled, embarrassed and intrigued, all at once. "I, uh…I don't have any music."

_Oh, she wants to dance, all right. _That much was clear from the slight upward curve of her lips, even as she protested.

"We don't need it." He set down his bottle and held out his hand. "You'll see."

Jane hesitated for the barest instant, then put down her own beer. Her hand in his was cool from the surface of the bottle, but as he rested his other hand on the small of her back, her body heat was a direct contrast.

They swayed together, instinctively finding a matching rhythm within a couple of seconds, despite the lack of music. After that, it was effortless for him to keep in time with her, and she gave a soft laugh as he spun her into a twirl. "So where did _you_ learn to dance?"

"My sister's wedding. One of her friends insisted that I needed to learn." And he'd allowed her to drag him back to her hotel room after the reception—not that he was about to volunteer that information to Jane.

"She taught you pretty well," Jane said, her neutral tone cluing him in that she'd filled in the blanks for herself.

"With dancing, only part of it is skill. The rest is having the right partner." He couldn't help but tighten his grip a little. He could barely even remember Sarah's friend's name, and Jane? Jane was right here.

"That makes sense," she murmured.

After a few more well-coordinated steps, Jane looked up into his face. "I think we work pretty well together in the field. Undercover or not. It's kind of like the dancing."

His voice was huskier than he intended when he replied, "Yeah. I'd noticed that, too."

Did she find the way they worked together as much of a turn-on as he did? The way she understood his signals, supplied covering fire, followed his lead?

"Thank you. For watching my back out there. Not just today."

"Always." He was hyper-aware of everywhere her body met his. As 'husband and wife', they'd danced closer together than he usually would with a partner, and they'd fallen straight back into that for their reprise, by unspoken agreement. "I have your back, and you have mine. That's what good partners do."

She nodded, then cleared her throat, looking over his shoulder instead of meeting his eyes. "So, uh, we should probably get to bed soon, right?"

It took all of Kurt's willpower to keep his brain from jumping straight back into the gutter. "Well, Mayfair gave us the morning off, since we were working later than we planned, but I can leave if you're sleepy—"

Her hand tightened in his. "I'm not."

"Do you want to stop?" he asked, then awkwardly added, "Stop dancing?"

"Do you?" she said, dodging around the question.

Kurt caught her eye. "Jane. Do you want to stop?"

The sexual tension between them was thick now, almost a caress against his skin. He willed his body under control, holding her gaze, seeking her understanding that his question was about more than just dancing now.

"No," she said, gazing up at him steadily. Her shyness was still there, but beneath it was a conviction that made his heart skip. "I don't wanna stop, Kurt."

He closed his eyes for a moment, battling with his self-control. "What about your fiancé?"

Instead of withdrawing, the way he'd half expected, Jane smiled. "I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier, but…when I gave you the ring back after the mission, I remembered calling off my engagement."

The grey cloud that had been casting a shadow on his mood evaporated. It didn't mean she _didn't_ have an unknown romantic partner out there, somewhere in the world…but it lessened the chances considerably. Not that Jane had seemed overly excited about the idea of having a fiancé in the first place…

"How do you feel about that?" he asked.

They were barely moving now, swaying in place. Kurt released her hand and slid his arms around her waist, and Jane looped her arms around his neck, the way she had multiple times during the mission. At the time, he'd told himself she was doing it because it was easier to plan out their next move without being overheard.

The room around them now was silent.

"I feel…like it didn't matter before, and it still doesn't now."

"Jane," he murmured, unable to think about anything but how close they were, how perfectly they fit in each other's arms.

"Hmm?" she asked, almost dreamily. Her attention drifted to his lips, back up to his eyes, and he knew he was powerless to stop this, no matter how unprofessional it was.

"Am I still your starting point?"

Her lips on his sent a sweet shock through him, as she took one soft, lingering taste. Kurt suppressed a groan and let her lead, reciprocating but not trying to take charge, needing her to be completely sure before he stopped holding back.

She ended the kiss a little breathlessly, her expressive eyes opening to meet his. The desire in them was tinged with joy, and he couldn't help but smile for a second before lowering his head, capturing her lips with his.

Their rhythm changed as the kiss stretched on—where before they had been swaying together in the same direction, now they were in opposition, their bodies shifting against each other. Jane gave a soft moan of discovery as he grew hard, rising onto her toes to align her body with his. Their kisses melded into one another as he cupped her ass with both hands, pressing as close to her as he could.

It seemed like forever passed before they broke apart, yet at the same time, he didn't want it to end. He searched her face for worry or doubt, hoping like hell that they were on the same wavelength.

She gave him a beautiful smile, shy yet radiant at the same time. "I hope that answers your question."

Kurt barely even remembered what the question was. "Am I coming on too strong?"

Shaking her head, Jane traced her fingers down his face. "I've wanted this all day."

"You too, huh?" He kissed her again, then again, unable to get enough of her lips.

When Jane withdrew from him, he bit down on a protest, opening his eyes to see what was happening, only to see her spinning under his arm as though they were still dancing. Then, instead of returning to his arms, she took a step back, towards the bedroom, with a small, tentative tug on his arm.

Inviting him to stay the night, but unsure of his reaction.

He should kiss her goodnight and leave. From every angle he looked at it, sleeping with Jane tonight would be a bad idea. She was a person of interest in the network of cases on which he was the lead agent. She barely remembered who she was, and even if she was completely willing, he'd be taking advantage of how disoriented she was from the life she used to have. Not to mention that he'd looked for her, for Taylor, for twenty-five years. What if things went wrong between them? Would the friendship he'd cherished as a child be ruined beyond repair, by introducing this most adult of elements?

He pulled on her arm in turn, bringing her back into his arms, so she could feel just how much he wanted to follow her lead. Cupping her face in his hand, he said, "I think we should slow down."

She reached down to rub her hand over his hard-on, and the flare of pleasure made him draw in a sharp breath. "Jane—"

"Do you really want to stop? Or are you just saying it because you think I'll regret it? Because I won't." She nuzzled his neck. "I've dreamed about us together, Kurt."

"Me too," he admitted, unable to stop himself as she kissed him just below his ear, her tongue teasing his skin. "I can't stop thinking about it."

This time, when she took a step back towards the bedroom, he followed willingly, searching her face for doubt as they moved. The short distance seemed to take an eternity to travel, but despite her earlier reluctance to meet his eyes, she gazed up at him the whole way, her expression conveying her certainty that she wanted to do this.

As they neared the bed, she reached for him again, and he couldn't help a possessive growl as he took her lips once more. Her tongue met his halfway as they resumed their intimate dance, their hips grinding together in a wishful approximation of what was to come.

Their clothing was considerably less formal than the finery they'd worn to the gala, but that only meant that less care was needed as they pulled and lifted, unzipped and writhed free of it.

God, she'd been stunning in that dress, her tattoos covered with makeup, but as he sat down on the edge of the bed and tugged her forward to straddle his lap, her inked body was the most beautiful thing he'd ever beheld. He could tell she was self-conscious, but as she lowered herself onto him, the slick heat of her betrayed just how much she craved him, and her nervousness fell away.

"Kurt," she whispered against his lips, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.

He wanted to speak, to tell her how fucking fantastic she felt, how much he'd been wanting this, how she wouldn't leave his thoughts and kept taking over his fantasies, but he had no words for the way he felt. He kissed her instead, his hands gripping her ass as she rose and fell in his lap, setting a slow but primal rhythm that he couldn't resist.

_Fuck, I never thought I would need any woman like this._ He felt vulnerable, almost on edge, wanting to hide from the intimacy even as he was spellbound by it. He drove up into her, increasing the pace, and Jane gasped against his lips, gripping his shoulders for support.

He sought out her clit with his thumb, overwhelmed by how wet she was, how little he'd had to tease her to get her to this state. He should have gone down on her first—still wanted to—but after everything that had happened today, Jane obviously felt the need to have him inside her just as much as he wanted to be there.

She tightened around him as he found the right spot, making him groan into her mouth. He pulled back, watching her as he applied a fluttering pressure over the area, gauging her reaction. Jane dropped her head to kiss his shoulder, but not before he caught sight of the pleasure suffusing her face. Her tension grew as she rode him harder, and he fell backward to give her more room to move, using the bed as leverage to buck up into her.

Jane arched her back as she came, giving soft, breathless cries in time with the ripples of her orgasm. Kurt had never seen, heard or felt anything so perfect in his life, his own body trembling with the urge to let go. _Not yet. Give her more—_

But then she opened her eyes and smiled at him, and he couldn't hold on, spilling himself in strong, hot pulses that obliterated every other sense.

Breathing hard, Kurt opened his eyes and cursed. There was no Jane above him, and only the sheets of his own bed tangled around him, sticking to his skin with the evidence of his climax. _Of course it's a dream. What the hell else could it be?_

They'd never gotten to finish up Jane's housewarming party, intimately or otherwise. It had been truncated early by a call from Mayfair, telling Patterson that her ex-boyfriend had been attacked. They'd rushed to the hospital, the whole team there for moral support, but David hadn't made it.

As a result, the charged atmosphere between Kurt and Jane that day had been lost. Even if there was a way to recapture it, Kurt obviously needed to cool off a little. Just because Jane was the feature of his fantasies, that didn't mean she returned his interest. Even in the dream, her signals had been conflicted and mixed at first, as though his sleeping mind had been trying to warn him off.

But just for a moment, before he stripped away the sticky sheet and went to shower off the evidence of his lust, he stayed where he was and guiltily savoured the residual waves of pleasure. _Fuck, that was a good dream._

Even as he tried to put it out of his mind, telling himself it could never happen again, he wasn't sure he wanted it to be the last.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Feedback is fangirl fuel! I've been feeling pretty demotivated lately, so knowing people are still out there reading would be appreciated.


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